


Plain Grey

by BlackVelvet42



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut, Grey Undershirt Appreciation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-13
Updated: 2019-12-13
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:42:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21779284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackVelvet42/pseuds/BlackVelvet42
Summary: "For being such an ordinary piece of clothing, it sure was effective in raising his blood pressure."
Relationships: Chakotay/Kathryn Janeway
Comments: 42
Kudos: 113
Collections: 25 Days of Voyager (2019)





	Plain Grey

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ariella884](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariella884/gifts).



> Thank you Caladenia for the life-saving beta, and Ariella for organizing this wonderful Christmas tradition!  
> Day 13 of 25 Days of Voyager.

* * *

Depending on the day, Chakotay either cursed the grey undershirt as an invention of the devil or blessed it as a gift from the gods. Not that he believed in either, but he did believe in the Starfleet grey. For being such an ordinary piece of clothing, it sure was effective in raising his blood pressure. 

Not when worn by him, of course. On him, as well as on anyone else, it was only a shirt: plain and convenient, fit for its purpose. Maximum efficiency with minimum effort, a true Starfleet design. On Kathryn, however, that piece of fabric was reborn, taking on a life of its own.

Her natural radiance was evident to anyone who met her, regardless of age, gender, or species. He was no exception. Stepping up to him and positioning herself between him and Paris signaled leadership and courage he could only marvel at. Authority was ingrained in every inch of her petite frame, evoking instant respect and a desire to follow her lead.

Equally embedded in her every breath was her femininity, from the tilt of her hips to the tips of her elegant fingers and the throaty voice that – spirits have mercy on him for even thinking it – grabbed him by the balls and squeezed with a loving tenderness whenever she said his name. And somehow, as he gradually learned, the grey undershirt played in perfect sync with these qualities, adding to her shine.

At the beginning, all he could see was the turtleneck peeking from under her uniform jacket. Easily overlooked, rather insignificant, much like her boots or the coffee cup on her desk.

Talk about miscalculation.

Then one day on the Alpha shift, while trying to focus on her thorough description of warp core properties, his mind started to wander in a way that most probably wasn’t fitting for a first officer, but that led him to a life-altering discovery: the tone of her shirt matched the blue-grey of her eyes.

Her voice immediately faded into the background.

Against his better judgement, and yet unable to resist, he proceeded with his study and noticed how beautifully the shade also emphasized the auburn of her hair and the freckles on her pale skin by sheer contrast. A shiver ran down his spine. Of all the colors in the galaxy, Starfleet standard issue just happened to be the one that made her look like a piece of art.

Her direct question startled him to the present and, tugging at his ear in discomfort, he was forced to admit he hadn’t quite caught what she’d said, but if she could repeat the last two, three sentences, he would be right back with her. After that, he made sure to better hide his drifting attention.

Brief sideways glances in her direction while sitting on the bridge soon became a habit. Her profile was worth every second.

The fabric hugged her delicate neck like a collar and with the four golden pips decorating the side, they formed a striking combination of vulnerability and power. The fire in her eyes and the tilt of her jaw brought forth a sense of rock-hard determination and self-control but when she slid her fingers beneath the neckline to rub an aching shoulder and bared her creamy skin in the process, the gesture looked very much like she was downright calling him to kiss her.

Most of the time, the undershirt remained hidden under the jacket, which was fortunate for his work efficiency and sanity, because the first time he saw her with her jacket open, he was ready to drop to his knees.

From experience, he knew the material was thin. He knew how mercilessly it revealed the details of his softening midsection no matter how much he wanted to avoid thinking about his age and how the years had changed his body. Thus, he was in no way prepared for the opposite effect of that precision.

It was late after their shift and she was still working behind the desk, jacket unzipped and massaging her temples from the recent setbacks. She looked up at hearing him enter and gave him a tired smile, visibly relieved to see him hand over the report she had been expecting. Usually, he would have offered her a kind word to lighten her spirit, but this time he stayed silent, his eyes glued to her chest.

Even if the moment didn’t last for more than two seconds and her attention was already on the new information, he blushed at the image now forever burnt into his mind. The swell of her breasts, rising with each inhale, tightening the fabric around her chest. The edge of her bra and the dip of her cleavage so clear that the view left little to the imagination of how she would look naked.

It was insane, really, how such a chaste, almost clinical piece of clothing could turn into this reflection of sensuality. Not to mention a fountain of fantasies his subconscious kept creating after that incident, dreaming of the day he would see her remove the jacket.

Despite his doubts, that day did come, sooner and far more stunning than he anticipated.

Another late night, this time in her quarters. Their weekly dinners had grown easy and relaxed, their discussions branching freely away from the ships’ business to whatever they felt like sharing. She was good company. Quick-witted and kind-hearted, with a playfulness he was delighted to see emerging more and more often.

Regardless of the informal atmosphere, she always kept her uniform strictly in place. He suspected it was a signal, more or less conscious, to remind him that she was still his superior and they were still, first and foremost, the command team of her ship. He respected that. Certain boundaries were meant to be held, making choices less complicated and keeping hopes within possibilities. But for whatever reason, that night turned out different.

Getting up after dessert, she simply threw the jacket on the couch and asked if he wanted something to drink, acting like this was a routine repeated a hundred times instead of being the first, taking his breath away. He must have managed some kind of a reply, because she went to the replicator and ordered a coffee and a tea, leaving him watching her moves in shocked silence.

The long sleeves were skin-tight, the whole shirt surely at least a number smaller than her usual size, the fabric licking her curves like a second skin. A warm wave billowing in his chest and heading south, he drank in the sight of her: her long arms and small waist, her back and shoulders much narrower without the thick uniform to boost her frame. And as she turned and made her way to him, her hourglass figure now fully visible, his heart thrummed at a sudden, undeniably primal need to touch her and hold her, for all the days of his life.

Not that he expressed any of those sentiments. He took the steaming mug she offered and thanked her, making sure his gaze stayed firmly on her face. Whether she noticed his distraction or not, she didn’t bring it up, and once he gathered his wits about him, the evening proceeded to a somewhat honorable ending. Nevertheless, a long time passed until he saw her in the undershirt again.

Circumstances were different then, the ship in battle and the life-support failing. Her face was covered in dirt, desperation flashing in her eyes when she thought no one saw. Beads of sweat on her forehead, she removed the excess layers of clothing, leaving her in a tank top, and with the jacket and torn shirt scattered on the floor, she returned to fix the damaged relays.

Everything felt horribly wrong. The ship falling apart around them, her crumbling confidence and will, and the amount of her soft, bruised skin so abruptly exposed to the world, to him. Heart aching with the need to protect her, he averted his eyes, as if that would somehow shelter her privacy, but kept the image of her hopelessness to fuel him with the strength to fight even harder until Voyager and her captain were both back in full force. 

Over the years, the undershirt came to represent a side of her only a few people were entitled to witness.

Although she willingly dressed for every occasion according to customs and expectations – the variety of first contacts and alien ceremonies, the equally exotic casual events Tom organized on the holodeck, and the curious Gothic holonovels she loved – she rarely removed just her uniform jacket. Maybe holding on to it was purely protocol, maybe a means to keep a professional distance, but showing herself in the soft grey shirt was the symbol of letting her guard down and allowing another to enter her personal space.

He knew to appreciate the frequency he was invited to this mystical sphere of intimacy. Some moments he cherished above others and kept as mementos.

Like working with her late into the night in her ready room, jackets carelessly tossed to the side, both concentrated on their respective PADDs. Or finding her curled up on her couch reading a book under a blanket with a glass of wine near, listening to whatever he had come in to see her for but not making a single move to present herself as more captainly. Or dining in her quarters, the room lit by a dozen candles and the meal spiced with light flirting, the spark in her eyes and the softness in her voice promising a future together, someday. Even visiting her during their flight through the void, when the shadows held her so tight he was left with only frustrated helplessness for not being able to set her free.

Perhaps these memories were a part of why the events in Devore space hit him so hard. Officially, he never knew half of what happened between her and the inspector, but he did recognize the calculated abandon as she stripped off the jacket and the intensity in her stare when she leaned close to the man. She was a hunter, disguising as prey, using every last drop of her femininity clad in Starfleet grey to win a game more dangerous than any so far. Veins burning with jealousy, heart cold with worry, he stepped back and watched her play - and triumph.

The undershirt also came to signify unbreakable resolve.

For seven years, the temptation of intimacy lingered between them, the flames that had ignited from day one sometimes fading into a mere flicker, weakened by too much hardship and misunderstanding, but always flaring into a new blaze when they least expected it. If it had been up to him, they would have been living together since New Earth, but seeing her inner struggle, the personal longing and the sense of duty pulling her to opposite directions, he never pressed the issue of talking about their feelings, however obvious they were. If she felt she needed the isolation to ensure she could fulfill her promise to the crew, who was he to question her? Her part was difficult enough. So, he settled for staying by her side, observing her with a deepening worry for her single-mindedness that permitted her very little happiness, restraining herself to one role, her focus set on one goal.

Yet when Earth finally shone outside Voyager’s windows in its precious, familiar colors, all of that changed in a heartbeat.

Like the plan had been made and agreed on ions ago, she took his hand and led him to her bedroom. There she kissed him with a pent-up fever of seven long years, wrapping her arms around him like she was never going to let him go. Her lips claiming his were sweet and hungry, her fingers tearing off his clothes as intent as he had imagined, and he couldn’t help but smile; his surprise, his relief, his overwhelming joy and growing certainty that their journey together was only to begin.

With trembling hands, he slid the jacket off her shoulders and allowed himself time to pause in the moment. The undershirt was smooth under his palms as he caressed her arms and back, her body soft and yielding as he pulled her closer and pressed his lips against hers again. Savoring each move, he peeled off the shirt along with every piece of clothing on her, letting them fall on the floor as remnants of an era now in the past. 

Beneath, he found her more beautiful than any of his dreams or wildest fantasies, and far more passionate. Eyes heated with affection and desire, her lips whispering secrets he gladly responded to, she pushed him on her bed and moved over him, warm and open and eager. Enveloping him with her love, she soon made him forget there had ever existed such a thing as a plain grey barrier between them.

* * *


End file.
